


Inside the Dark Heart

by MichiganBlackhawk



Series: Trio AU [4]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-17
Updated: 2013-11-17
Packaged: 2018-01-01 19:26:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,718
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1047689
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MichiganBlackhawk/pseuds/MichiganBlackhawk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Sam goes missing and Jayme goes after him, Dean finds out just how dark the heart of a neromancer can get. Takes place during the events of the first season episode "The Benders."</p><p> </p><p>Revised version updated 5/22/2014</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Not one of Show's better offerings, but every show has its off moments. Aside from this author's own sadistic tendencies, I thought that in light of this AU and the character I've unleashed, this episode really needed to be dealt with, because it's always the case that for every hunter out there, there's always something bigger.
> 
> Revised version updated 5/22/2014

“Next time _I_ get to play borderline Canadian mountie and Dean gets to freeze his ass off out here,” Jayme grumbled, pulling her coat and blanket tighter around her shoulders. They were in Hibbing, Minnesota, investigating the disappearance of a local man. At the moment Sam and Dean were inside talking with the witness, a young boy, leaving Jayme to sit and wait in the car parked around the corner. Dean had taken the keys with him, telling her “I don’t want you doing any crazy shit like you did back in Cape Girardeau.”

“Hey, I got us away from that truck, didn’t I?” she’d shouted after him.

“Exactly why I don’t trust you!”

“He could have at least set me on fire so I’d be warm,” she grumbled. Her mood had not improved while she waited, a continuation of a slow decline that had started shortly after they’d left the abandoned cabin weeks before.

She had never held any illusions about the life to which she’d slowly been introduced. Or at least she hadn’t thought so, until she had seen some of the darker sides of it; after seeing her mother dead with her throat ripped out, a murderous scarecrow, and a rawhead, she didn’t think anything else would be able to shock her.

Then along came Max and shattered those illusions, and laid open an uncomfortable truth. It was one thing to face big scary monsters that you could overpower with muscle, but the last couple jobs had been about facing a different darkness, one that, as Dean had pointed out to her, couldn’t be punched to death. It was a side of life on Earth that she’d never seen thanks to privilege and good luck, and though it didn’t scare her, it left her feeling unbalanced and uprooted. Max had come a little too close to home; she’d recognized the look in his eyes all too well, and she figured in the end that they’d forgiven her for being closed off for a while.

“Ahma, I wish you were here to talk like Obi-wan and make me feel better about all this,” she muttered. It didn’t help that Dean had spent most of their “racist truck” job mooning over an old girlfriend, with Sam teasing Jayme about being jealous. She wasn’t jealous—how ridiculous. She was a neromancer, Dean was human, and that was that. He had at least admitted that she wasn’t a monster, but that didn’t mean he felt anything for her or even liked her that much.

Even so, watching him with Cassie had been like a splinter in her paw, a nagging discomfort that didn’t go away no matter how much she tried to rationalize it. That might have been the reason she’d snatched the keys from Dean with such determination, making him stay on the phone with Sam as they’d led the ghost truck on a merry chase. Years of driving cars as old as the Impala had served them in good stead, Jayme managing to get the car spun and on holy ground just in time, leaving Dean rattled but alive, his precious baby unscratched.

And even after that he didn’t trust her to be able to wait with the heater running.

Finally the two of them returned, dressed in their “borrowed” state trooper outfits—to Jayme’s mind they looked entirely too young to pass for qualified officers of the law. “Well?” she asked as they got in.

Dean started the engine. “Are there any neromancers around here?”

“How should I know?”

“What?” He looked over his shoulder. “What do you mean, ‘how should I know’?”

“If you think I have a list of all the neromancers on this planet you’re mistaken. We only know two, three at most. That way if one of us is discovered there’s no way we can be forced to reveal everyone.”

“So who are the ones you know?” Sam asked.

“Why do you want to know?”

“Because the kid described a ‘whining growl’ after the dude got snatched,” Dean said.

“And you automatically think ‘neromancer,’” Jayme snapped.

“No, it’s not that,” Sam said quickly. “We’re just trying to eliminate possibilities, that’s all.”

“We don’t whine, and even if a neromancer were to go completely nuts and grab a human, we’d do it silently. I don’t suppose your witness was able to describe this . . . whining growl.”

“No,” Dean admitted, shifting into drive and pulling away from the curb.

“Then I doubt it was one of us,” she said. “We have very little reason to harm any of you.”

“Why is that?” Sam asked.

“Because it’s rude for a visitor to snack on the local sentient wildlife and besides, humans taste terrible.”

“And you would know that _how_?” Dean said, giving Sam an uncomfortable look.

“Not personally, you dork. But at one time we did mingle with cannibal societies, and the report from that was that human flesh tastes awful.”

“In any other case I’d be insulted,” Dean said.

 

 

They stopped at a rural biker bar whose sign proclaimed “Kugel’s Keg,” Jayme warming up in both senses of the word after they got inside. Sam filled Jayme in on what they’d been told, the two of them sitting at a table while Dean threw darts.

“I’ve heard about disappearances and stuff before but this is the most oddball one I’ve ever seen,” she said. “Your dad marked it, but like you said, Dean—phantom attackers usually snatch people from their beds. This guy vanished in a parking lot, complete with whining growl.”

“And this area has more disappearances than anywhere else in the state,” Sam added. “But there’s not just one kind of phantom attacker.”

Dean shrugged, handing a dart to Jayme. “Five bucks says you can’t hit the board from here. So let’s ask around tomorrow before we decide to blow town.”

Jayme, lips still on the mouth of her beer, held up the dart and flicked her wrist; the dart sank into one of the inner white panels.

“You missed.”

She lowered her beer. “You said the board, not the bullseye.”

Sam stood up, taking out his wallet. “There’s a motel back down the road.”

“You in a hurry?” Dean asked. “Let’s have another round. Hey, if we get Jayme drunk enough I might just win a game.” He dodged her swipe. “Easy there, Princess.”

“We should get an early start,” Sam pointed out.

“You never told me your brother was this much fun, Dean,” Jayme said.

“I’ll meet you guys outside,” Dean said, waving them off as he headed for the restroom.

Sam and Jayme headed outside, Jayme pausing near a bike parked by the door. “Ohhh, that’s a beauty,” she said. “I used to ride one of these back in the day, before all the crotch rockets came out.”

“Well, if you ride one now, Dean’s eyes might fall out.”

“Yeah yeah,” she said, bumping him with her hip. “You go on. I’m gonna drool over this for a minute.”

Sam just smiled, shaking his head. “Whatever you say.”

Even though Sam was the one with the premonitions and visions, it only took a minute or two for Jayme’s neck to prickle. She had no psychic powers that she was aware of, but even millions of years of evolution hadn’t robbed her species of some highly tuned instincts. 

The first thing she noticed was that Sam was nowhere in sight. At six foot five, that was a rare and impressive accomplishment. She headed for the Impala, spotting the next sign that something was Very Wrong when she saw their father’s journal sitting on the hood with still no sign of Sam. She’d been with them long enough to know that John Winchester’s journal was not something they left lying around. She flared her nostrils, drawing in a few deep breaths along with the scent of exhaust that was distinct from that of any others nearby.

Darting into the street, her sharp eyes caught sight of a van that was heading down the road. The same exhaust smell trailed after it. “Oh you rotten son of a bitch,” she muttered, tearing off her jacket as she raced back to the Impala. There was no time to grab her other outfit, much less put it on as she kicked off her boots. The rest of her clothing was similarly designed to come apart at the seams as she changed; waiting until there were no human eyes on her, she shifted forms, letting the pieces fall to the pavement. She clipped her phone to her belt and looped it around her neck, lunging across the lot and into the darkness. Moving easily through the trees, her form shifted and merged to four legs as she moved to give chase.

It wasn’t until she’d caught up enough to register the creaks and squeals issuing from the van (deciding to conserve her wind and not mutter under her breath about ‘whining growls’) that she remembered Dean; if he hadn’t already discovered their absence he would soon.

Waiting until the van was on a long stretch of road with no turnoffs, she stopped, grabbing her phone with the careful mindfulness not to crush it by accident. She opened it, using the tip of one claw to speed-dial Dean’s number.

“Jayme! Where the hell are you? Where’s Sam?” he thundered.

“Dean, just shut up, okay? Sam’s been taken. I’m following the van right now. I’m headed southeast on 73. Get your ass moving and you might catch up.”

“I’m in the car now! Wait for me and I’ll pick you up!”

“There’s no time,” she said. “If I don’t keep moving I might lose them. The scent won’t hang around forever. Get going on 73 and I’ll call you back.” Cutting off Dean’s outraged shouts, she closed the phone and tucked it away, shifting back to four legs as she resumed the chase.

 

The black Impala roared down the dark two-lane road, Dean gripping the wheel harder and harder until it felt like his knuckles would split. Where in the _hell_ did Jayme get off giving him orders? Why in the _hell_ wasn’t she waiting? Terror over what had happened—or was happening—to Sam was fueling it all, making his head literally buzz with fury. The thought that his brother was being tailed by a rather formidable creature didn’t do anything to slow his heart, which was hammering painfully against his ribs.

Finding the journal on the hood and pieces of Jayme’s clothing had been enough to completely ruin whatever buzz he’d had going from the beer. Getting the call from Jayme that she knew where he was and was going after him should have made it better but it didn’t. Watching out for Sam was _his_ job, not hers. _He_ was supposed to be racing after Sam with her backing him up.

“Okay, okay, stay calm,” he said, loosening his death grip. “Jayme’s on his tail. She’s on it. She’ll tear apart anything that tries to hurt him.” He repeated the words over and over in the hopes that they would calm him, smiling grimly at the thought. But then they still didn’t know what was going on, who had Sam, why, and all of this going-in-blind shit was about to make him scream.

The phone rang again and he nearly lost control as he snapped it open. “Jayme, what do you got?” he said, trying not to scream at her.

“Take a right on Leighton, then jack east!” she said, her voice ragged. “Look for a bent deer crossing sign!” Then she was gone and he was peeling rubber, roaring into the night.


	2. Chapter 2

On a dark, moonless night in 1974, when neither Dean nor Sam were even approaching twinkles in either of their parents’ eyes, Jayme had taken advantage of John Entwistle’s enclosed, private estate for a little exercise. After making sure all of his hounds were safely tucked away in their kennels, she’d roared and leaped across the grounds, feeling the earth beneath her paws, darting around trees, lunging and pouncing at whatever caught her fancy, including an extremely startled hare who earned barely a swipe from a neromancer more intent on rolling on the grass.

Living on Earth required a delicate balance of release and restraint. The planet had plenty of places remote and uninhabited enough for neromancers to roam freely if they chose, but the nature of their presence required them to maintain close contact with the very people from whom they had to at the same time remain hidden. Over time, with humans reaching populations in the billions and their technology reaching a level where surveillance was the norm, the ability for Earth’s visitors to find places to let their hair down was more strictly curtailed.

Now, in Minnesota, the darkness, tree cover, and sparse human population meant she could run unfettered. The twin cover and the slowness of the van meant she didn’t have to push herself quite as hard as the last time, but even so it was hard to keep up. The van kept escaping her sight, leaving her to rely on her nose.

Jayme stopped again, the cold air searing her lungs, and changed back to two legs. She huddled close to the ground to conserve body heat as she pulled out her phone. “Dean?” She coughed, panting hard.

“Jayme? What is it? What’s happened?” He was still barking, but he at least no longer sounded like he wanted to reach through the phone and strangle her.

“Van’s outta sight again,” she said, taking shallow breaths. “I have the scent, gonna keep running once I catch my breath.”

“Four legs not enough?”

“I’m not a marathon runner, Dean. I’m built for sprinting. Besides, this cold air is killing me.”

“What happens when the trail runs cold, huh?”

“That’s not going to happen,” she snarled. “You’re going to have to trust me. I am going to find him and get him back safe. I swear to you.”

“I wish you’d just freakin’ wait for me!”

“Where are you?” she asked.

“Still on Leighton!”

“That’s about five miles from where I am now. By the time you get here it could be too late and I can’t exactly follow the scent from the car unless you strap me to the hood.” She could practically hear him thinking along those lines. “Keep going past the Town Line road on 73. It banks west. I’ll call with the next turnoff.”

It didn’t take long to pick up the scent, even though the van was now firmly out of sight. To counterract the pain in her legs and the searing ache in her lungs, she entertained herself with images of whoever or whatever had snatched Sam and what she was going to do to them. It was a van she was chasing, so it was almost certain that she was after something corporeal, something that would bleed if bitten or clawed. The thought made her drool in anticipation. It was true that she hadn’t been tagging along with the Winchesters for long, but she was already fond of them both; despite their arguments and sarcasm and almost identical stubbornness that was often directed at each other, they were good boys who had a rough life that she couldn’t really relate to. It felt almost necessary to do what she could to make it easier, no matter how small the gesture.

The thought that it might have been humans who’d snatched Sam occurred to her as she finally stopped to call Dean again. It seemed unlikely given Sam’s fighting skills—he at least would have been able to make some noise to alert her, right?—but it was always possible. And if it were true, it raised a whole other set of complications.

But first things first.

“Dean,” she said, trying not to cough. “Still on 73, man. Haven’t reached any turnoffs yet. Scent’s still strong, but I can’t see the van anymore.”

“I don’t suppose you got a license plate,” he said.

“It’s got one but I couldn’t read the letters. All rusted up. Couldn’t tell if it was on purpose.” She coughed, a dry braying sound. “Okay, that’s it. Once we get Sam back I need some cold-weather long-distance training.”

“Nice to know you’re not perfect,” Dean said.

“Honey if you want perfect you’re talking to the wrong neromancer.”

“We’ll debate this later. Get your ass moving,” he said, hanging up.

“Love you too, kiddo,” she said, covering her mouth and taking a few deep breaths of warmer air before getting up and moving back into a run.

She finally reached a rural, unmarked turnoff after 73 took on a straight southerly course, a quarter mile after passing Stuart Road. She went past it, reaching another road called Smith before realizing the trail didn’t reach that far. Backtracking, she went back to the turnoff, able to pick up enough to indicate the van had gone that way. Looking around, she spotted a speed limit sign and merged back to two legs, digging her fingers into the mud and smearing a recognizable “S” and an arrow on the sign. Glancing around to make sure no one else was around, she turned onto the gravel and dirt path and headed due east.

 

 

Dean was resisting the urge to push the needle past seventy; he needed to drive slow enough that he could recognize whatever signs Jayme would try to leave him. When she’d told him that she had lost sight of the van she was chasing his heart had clenched so hard he could barely breathe. Fear had been slowly bleeding into anger that he kept stoked to a nice rolling boil. Whoever had taken Sam was going to get blown away—that much he could promise.

Or he’d just sic Jayme on them and watch. Yeah, that would be okay too.

The phone rang and he grabbed for it. “Find him yet?”

“Sorry. Got some more bad news.”

A sour taste exploded in the back of his mouth. _Relax, Dean. If Sam were dead she wouldn’t sound this calm._ “What?”

“I definitely found where they turned off but it’s a dirt path and I can’t get enough scent to tell exactly what direction they went; there are at least four branches to this road. Good news is that I think it’s a dead end, so wherever they are they’re here, and I’ll find them.” He heard a beep. “Shit, battery’s going dead. Dean, listen. I’m not going to be able to guide you. Once you get here I’ll leave whatever signs I can, but you might just have to do a search yourself.”

Dean fought the urge to yell at her. He was about to lose contact with her and thus his only link to Sam. “You get him back safe, hear me?” he said, pausing before he added, “And watch your back.”

“You’re going to find us, Dean. Then you can watch it for me,” Jayme replied as the line went dead.

 

 

Freed from the necessity of having to run at speed while watching for cars, Jayme was able to focus all her energy on following whatever signs she could. There were fresh tracks in the dirt, but some of the spots were so rutted that it was hard to tell. Paths, some of them barely cart tracks in the underbrush, branched off into the darkness; Jayme took each one only as far as she needed to until she could tell that no one had passed that way recently.

Any concern about being spotted by anyone were assuaged when it was clear that the few structures along the way were abandoned, but there were still signs that someone lived up this way, so she moved cautiously, ready to leap for cover at a moment’s notice.

Hours passed as she moved deeper into the woods; she’d paused a couple times to leave signs for Dean—with no signs, she stripped patches of bark from several trees, carving an arrow into the pale wood with a claw. Once she reached the end of the line, a dead end with one last turnoff, this one so clearly used recently there was no point in marking it, she took off her belt and dead phone, burying it in the weeds. Time for Dean to do his own tracking.

Immersing herself in darkness, she left the worn, rutted drive and went deep into the surrounding woods. There were people nearby, she could feel it. Who they were and what intentions they had were unknown, and the flip side to being a predator from a planet where her species had always been at the top of the food chain was that even when you had the advantage it was still good to be cautious. Those who leaped without looking usually didn’t survive long enough to do much leaping.

So when she heard the sound of humans—or beings on two legs—moving through the brush she stopped, ducking down and listening, her ears and nose triangulating their position. There were two off to her left, converging on the sound of a third, who was coming from the opposite direction. She backed away, moving silently despite her size, tracking around and away from them, moving to flank the third and get behind him if she could.

Howls and laughs rose from her left, the sounds echoing around her and the third, who stopped, looking around. Jayme kept tracking sideways until she could see the third person. For a moment she thought it was Sam until she saw that he was much shorter and stockier. He carried a knife and ran haphazardly, proving that he was both lost and frightened.

The desire to find Sam warred with her instinct to find out what was going on in her immediate vicinity; at least it might give her some insight into who or what they were dealing with. Putting prudence over protectiveness, she followed the frightened man at a distance until he was set upon by two shadowy figures who attacked him with . . . spears?

Despite his fear, the third man managed to cut one of his attackers and run off; they split up, following him. Jayme kept her distance, not wanting to tip her hand unless she had to. The pair with the spears were laughing, moving slowly, toying with the third man. This was a hunt, and they were taking their time, wearing their prey out, making him frantic so that fear would override his defenses.

Humans hunting a human. Jayme felt her lip curl with disgust. Hunting was in her blood, in her DNA, but the idea of hunting an intelligent creature for fun was beyond anathema, it was unheard of. Typical that humans would think of it, the more cynical of her people would say, but it was also true that the vast majority of humanity would be disgusted by the idea as well.

The trio had moved off; she ran to catch up, stopping when she heard a scream, then laughs, then someone screaming in earnest, along with the sound of sharp objects piercing flesh.

“Poor bastard,” she growled, moving off in the direction he’d come from. She had a sneaking suspicion she’d find Sam there.

 

 

It had been some time—nearly twenty minutes according to Sam’s watch—since he’d heard Jenkins scream. Since then there had only been silence, with no sign of Jenkins or anyone else.

Conflicting thoughts tore at him; at least with Jenkins there he’d had someone to talk to, even if the man had been sarcastic and called him “Sammy.” He wondered where Dean and Jayme were, if they were coming for him—which was ridiculous since they had no idea where he even _was_. He hoped they were safe; he hadn’t seen anything after he’d been grabbed aside from a bright flash of light and then darkness. It had all happened so fast he hadn’t had any time to even think of a defense.

He’d prowled every inch of his cage looking for weaknesses and finding none. If only Jayme were there; he’d smiled at the thought of her ripping it open like a tin can. Of all the times to have a friend with super-strength and her not to be there . . .

He’d spent a few more minutes trying to loosen the cable, earning a pair of sore hands for his trouble. He wasn’t sure what good it was going to do but he had to do _something_. He just wished Jenkins had listened to him, but now Jenkins was probably dead from the sound of it. He couldn’t blame the man; Sam was lucky enough to have the training and instincts to know when something looked too easy. Jenkins was just a guy who wanted only an escape from a nightmare.

The barn door creaked and Sam stiffened, trying to prepare himself for anything. Thanks to the solid end of his cage he couldn’t see who it was, so he backed up as far as he could and waited.

“I know that’s you, Sam. I can hear you breathin’, son.”

A tremendous surge of relief shot through him and he lunged to the bars as a familiar dark shape moved between the cages. “Jayme??” He’d lived almost his entire life with knowledge of the dark things that roamed around and in the context that he had to be able to protect himself, but right then the sight of her lion-like form made fear seem laughable.

“It is damn good to see you, kiddo. Are you okay?” She shifted back to two legs, reaching in as much as she could to touch his hands. “Did they hurt you?”

“No, I’m okay,” he said. “How the hell did you find me?”

She tapped her nose. “How do you think?”

“Wait, you followed my scent all the way here? How far?”

“I lost track. More than fifteen miles. The van they used has a very distinct exhaust smell and once I locked onto it it was just a matter of following.” She grinned. “You boys aren’t the only ones who can track, you know.”

“I should have known. Quick, get me out of here before they get back. Where’s Dean?”

“I don’t know. Lost him earlier.”

He drew back. “You what?”

“My cell phone battery died. I was only able to give him directions to the turn off of 73. I’ve been trying to leave signs along the way but I don’t know where he is now.”

“Okay. Listen, did you see a guy out there? He’s about—”

“Yes, Sam. I saw him. He’s dead.”

“What? How?”

She crouched until she could meet him eye to eye. “On my way here I saw a couple guys hiding out in the woods. I tracked around them, and then a third guy appeared, running in the other direction. He had a knife, and when he got closer to the other two they jumped out and attacked him. They were hunting him, Sam.”

“So that’s why they let him out,” Sam said. “This is some kind of sick game for them. Jayme, you need to get me out of here.”

“Wait. I have a better idea.”

He stopped, looking at her. Her gaze had dropped, growing faraway, with a sleepy sort of contemplation. “What are you talking about?”

“A little lesson for our friends out there.” She held up a hand to cut off his objection. “Hear me out. These guys hunt for sport—they didn’t use guns, so they obviously mean for their prey to have a sporting chance. But not too much of a chance, so when that guy comes at them with a knife, they have more formidable weapons, right?”

“Yeah,” Sam said. It slowly dawned on him what she was suggesting.

“You wait for them to let you out. I’ll be hiding nearby, and when you head off into the woods, I’ll be right behind you.”

“What if they have guns?”

She shook her head. “That’s not their way. Besides, I tear this cage apart and we book now, they will almost certainly come after us with guns, to keep you from telling anyone else about this place, and I am not bulletproof.” Her voice lowered. “There’s a lot of cars piled up out there, Sam. This is not the first, second, or twentieth time they’ve done this. I think they’ve earned a little payback, don’t you?”

He hesitated. She had a point, and as far as he could tell there was no bloodlust in her eyes. “What are you planning to do?”

“Not kill them, if that’s what you’re afraid of. That would earn me a one-way ticket back to Katarin. But these guys are obviously getting a rush from hunting people and like it to be a challenge, so we’ll give them one they never saw coming.”

“Wait a minute, you mean—”

“Sam, we don’t kill humans.”

“What about self-defense? What if they come at you?”

“With what? Spears, sticks, nunchucks? Doesn’t matter. Self-defense doesn’t apply here, hermano. Listen, let’s say we do things my way, and they jump out at you and I’m right there. And let’s say one of them gets powerball-lucky and manages to hit me with his little stick. What kind of damage do you think he’ll do to me?”

Sam thought. The two days they’d spent at the cabin working with her had given them a good idea how tough her hide was, which while nowhere near elephant or rhino was still a good deal stronger than unprotected human flesh. “Probably a scratch.”

“Right. So I’m not going to turn around and punch his lights out—which like this would probably cave in his head. And then how would that make me look? They won’t get close to you. I promise.”

“Jayme, I’m not sure about this.”

“Sam,” she said, rising to her feet, towering over him with one hand on the cage. “I heard them hunt that poor guy down. They were laughing and hooting like it was a game. They were getting off on his fear, and I couldn’t save him—I didn’t know who he was or who they were and I didn’t figure it out until it was too late. I can’t just let them get away with it. And if they get arrested and tried, they’re still getting away with it because your justice system isn’t going to make them feel the same fear that their victims had to go through.”

“So how are you going to do it?”

She grinned, a toothy smile full of grim glee. “Ever see a cat play with a mouse?”


	3. Chapter 3

There were only a few things that scared Dean Winchester. Clowns were thankfully not one of them—that was Sammy’s hangup—and the normal stuff like fire, falling, spiders, public speaking were things he approached with caution (spiders), tried to avoid (falling), used as a tool (fire), or kept his distance from (public speaking). As a matter of fact he prided himself on not being afraid of anything (shut up, flying didn’t count). He’d seen, fought, and killed things that would have had ordinary people shitting themselves, from werewolves to wendigos. Hell, he’d even killed a neromancer.

But there were two kinds of fear. There was the pantywaist, afraid-of-the-dark kind, and there was the kind that showed up and made your senses keen, brought your heart rate up, and sometimes kept you alive. Dad had always taught him that fear was a good thing, that it could keep you from making mistakes but only if you could control the bastard and make it work for you.

And that was okay in a situation that was under control, where he knew where he stood. This was a fubar-in-the-making and the closer he got to Jayme, the more fear started winding itself around his spine. The truth was the only thing that really scared him was the thought of losing Sam or Dad. Even Jayme; what if she was wrong and they were after something really powerful, more powerful than her? That had been the nagging thought clawing at his brain since he’d left that bar, and nothing was going to make it stop except finding out just what the hell was going on.

He’d finally found the dead end and the rusted gate that just felt right, almost as if he could smell that Jayme had been there. He drove the car past it and into the trees, grabbing his gun and a flashlight and taking to ground. He mostly kept the light off and carefully aiming it low when he had to turn it on. The air was silent, heavy with the rains that had passed through a few nights previous. He moved slowly, cautiously, listening for anything and hoping that if it showed up that it was Jayme and not something else.

This sucked. Here he was out in the middle of friggin’ nowhere in the dark, running around blind with _maybe_ a neromancer out there who had _maybe_ found Sam, who had been snatched by who-knew-what and—he stopped by a tree, taking a breath. Getting distracted could get you killed. He forced his mind to focus, ordering his eyes and ears to pay attention dammit and start giving him some information.

He kept to the edges of a dirt track that didn’t quite qualify as a driveway, following the sparse signs of civilization. He finally drew in sight of a house with a barn behind it. Both the house and barn had clearly seen better days; the place was disorganized, a virtual junkyard of crap and junked cars piled everywhere, but it was also clearly inhabited. He skirted the house, unable to see anything through the grimed and shuttered windows, and headed for the barn.

He eased the door open and darted in, checking to make sure there was no one unpleasant waiting to pounce. The barn was just as nasty as the rest, foul-smelling and clearly not used for anything close to actual farming. His eyes moved to the two giant cages that took up most of the floor space and the elaborate electrical hookups. For one insane moment he wondered if these were cages meant for neromancers, holding back a laugh at the thought of someone stupid enough to think some steel slats and a thick door could hold them.

“Who’s there?”

“Sam!?”

“Dean!”

He raced over to his brother, the fist around his heart finally unclenching. “Damn am I glad to see you. Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. Dean, listen. Jayme’s out there.”

“Oh, is she? Well where is Her Royal Fluffness, anyway? I didn’t see crap out there except the house the Clampetts moved out of.”

“Dean, would you listen? She has a plan, okay?”

“A plan for what?” Dean drew back. “Matter of fact, what the hell are you doing in there? Why didn’t she tear this damn thing apart?”

“Would you just shut up for one second!” Sam snapped. “They’re just people, Dean. They hunt people for fun, and they killed Jenkins.”

“What the hell does that have to do with Jayme?”

“She’s going to wait until they let me out, and follow me.” Sam tilted his head, letting Dean draw his own conclusion.

“No,” Dean said. “Absolutely not. She is _not_ using you as bait!”

“I’ve been bait before.”

“Yeah, with our usual playmates! The kind who follow rules and patterns! Not some kill-happy hillbillies!”

“Dean, they deserve it.”

Dean paused his inspection of the door. “Not gonna argue with you there, bro, and if she wants to smear them across the walls I’m not gonna stop her. But she’s not going to put you in danger to do it. Now how the hell do I get this damn thing open?”

Sam crossed his arms. “Go out and find her and let her open it.”

“What is your problem?”

“What, that I’d rather have her tailing me when those guys jump out with spears instead of them coming after us with guns?”

“Sam—”

“You’re not going to be able to open the cage from there. It takes a key.”

“Who has it?”

“I don’t know.”

Dean looked around. “I’ll go looking for it. No idea where the hell Jayme is and I’m not going out there calling her like a damn cat. If she shows up, you tell her I said to break you out of this damn thing or else.”

 

 

Jayme had finally found a secluded spot between a Jeep that had just about rusted into the ground and a black Mustang. It gave her a clear sightline to the barn door as well as the house and kept her all but invisible to anyone who didn’t know in advance that she was there. It didn’t occur to her until she’d settled in that Dean was hot on their trail and his arrival could seriously complicate matters, or that there was no way to tell how long it would be before they let Sam out of his cage to be the next prey.

“You’re not very good at this, are you?” she muttered to herself. “Dammit just go break him out of there already. Wasting time on these rednecks is stupid.”

She started to get up, then stopped. Two men dressed in dark camoflage fatigues were approaching from the woods, dragging a body between them. Even twenty yards away she could smell their victim’s blood and entrails, and all the righteous anger came boiling back. The hunters were still laughing between themselves, as if they’d just bagged a deer and were going home for Miller Time. “Go ahead boys, laugh it up,” the dark shape with the glowing eyes purred. Lowering her chin to her paws, she waited, closing her eyes while keeping her ears and nose alert. 

Nearly two hours later a familiar scent reached her ears and she opened her eyes, homing in on the figure drawing near the barn. “Dean. Son of a bitch. There goes my idea.” Any hope she had for Dean going along were shattered when she heard the sound of arguing from inside, then Dean emerging and heading straight for the house.

“No no no, you idiot!” she hissed. “Don’t go in there!” She started to get up, then paused. He was too close for her to catch up without risking being seen; besides, if she pounced him he was guaranteed to make enough noise for the entire Joad family to hear. She waited until he was inside, then emerged, skirting the edge of the junkyard and moving toward the back of the house, where overhanging trees badly in need of trimming provided plenty of cover. The grimy, nearly opaque windows provided the rest.

She merged back to two legs, hugging the side of the house as she went. She could hear music coming from inside, a light piano rag that was totally incongruous with the horrors she imagined went on inside on a regular basis. After a few minutes she heard a new sound—thumps and thuds and shouts that had to be a fight. Then a clang, then silence. It didn’t take a great deal of imagination to conclude that Dean had been discovered and caught.

Keeping a rising anxiety at bay—it wasn’t fear, not yet—she started peering into windows, moving along until she caught sight of movement. The two hunters were lifting Dean into a chair, one of them moving around to bind his hands. Another older man wearing a ball cap stood nearby, a young girl with the rattiest hair Jayme had ever seen standing next to him. “Well if it ain’t Pa, Judd, and little Ellie May,” she rumbled, sticking her thumb claws into the sill. Flexing her fingers, she drew it open as incrementally as she could until there was an inch or two of space.

Dank, fetid air hit her nostrils and she leaned back, holding a snort at bay. It was worse than the barn, worse than the Zeppelin after-party with the booze and bad clams. Dean was coming around, giving her something else to focus on. The Family That Time Forgot drew closer, staring at him as if they wanted to eat him.

It was hard to hold still. Watching other people being hurt or threatened was not a skill she’d ever thought to cultivate, but then again before she’d met the Winchesters she’d never had to. Rock stars didn’t hunt monsters, and despite the monumental amount of trouble they attracted—and that was just Keith Moon—it was usually they who wrought the mayhem. Ozzy and Alice had never been hunted by homicidal rednecks.

Dean was tough, tougher than almost anyone she’d ever met, but he was at their mercy and it was clear that any one of them, even the girl, wouldn’t hestitate to kill him. They didn’t care who he was; he was just another animal to them. The old man’s words, as he explained the thrill of hunting humans to Dean, sent a chill through her, but not for the obvious reason. Her people were predators by nature and design, but hunting wasn’t about thrills, or fun, or affirming life. Hunting was about obtaining sustenance, and killing was only for the same. Prey was treated with respect and killed as quickly and painlessly as possible, not terrorized and toyed with and driven to panic. Killing for fun or for trophies was one aspect of human behavior she definitely did not understand.

When one them leveled a hard punch to Dean’s face the ridge of fur along her back rose up stiff and hard, her skin tingling. They were intent on finding out if he was a cop, clearly cautious about their murderous games being discovered. When the old man moved over to the woodstove and took out a poker she lowered her head so that her rapid exhalations wouldn’t disturb any of the dirt on the sill. A neromancer-sized sneeze would have been a dead giveaway. Her eyes level with the sill, she watched the man bring the white-hot end of the poker close to Dean. She could hear his ragged breathing as the man menaced him, asking if any cops were going to come looking for them. Jayme bared her teeth, wishing she could tell the old man that the cops were the least of his worries.

One of the men grabbed Dean by the hair and chin, holding his head still. Jayme’s hands closed on the weatherbeaten wooden slats, her claws sinking in deep until the wood was creaking. There were only a few things you could do with a hot poker, and when used on a person none of them were good. All of them were threatening to push her over the edge as snarls rose in her chest, fighting to get out.

It dangled there for a few moments while the man spoke, then landed on Dean’s shoulder with a hiss. Dean screamed from behind clenched teeth. “Oh, you son of a bitch!” he snarled. Not seeing the man lower it until it was less than an inch from Dean’s eye, something white-hot exploded behind Jayme’s eyes and control became a thing of the past.


	4. Chapter 4

Glass shattered under the force of her palm as she slammed it into the pane, trusting her thick skin to protect her. She put her arm through to the shoulder, then curled it, ripping the entire window frame out of the house, her fist taking a chunk of the wall with it. 

She was aware of the shouts and scrambling as she pummelled her way into the house, roaring loud enough to make the humans run for cover. Reflex and instinct took over and she skittered forward, closing off one escape, then turning and blocking the other. One of the men had a rifle and tried to bring it up; she grabbed the barrel and tore it from his hands, snapping it in half.

Dean looked up as she closed the gap, her form huge but moving with a swiftness that was terrifying, her long arms snatching at Pa, one hand moving to cup his chin almost tenderly as the other came up to grab his head and he tensed, sure he was about to see her just tear it off. Instead she grunted, shoving him to the floor.

“Holy hell! What the hell _is_ that!?” said the man whose grip on Dean’s head had slackened considerably. During the five or so seconds it had taken Jayme to batter her way in, he’d remained frozen, staring at something that shouldn’t be as it swept into his home, shoving his family around as if they were barely a consideration.

Then it spoke.

“You’ll want to let him go, slowly,” it said, the deep and unmistakably female voice calm, a complete contradiction to the livid fury in her eyes. “Harm another hair on his head and I’ll be using your leg for a chew toy.”

“She means it, boys,” Dean said. He was going for cocky, but the look on her face put the slightest tremble in his voice.

The one holding his head let him go, backing away, his eyes huge. Jayme closed in, not snarling or growling, just pinning him with her gaze, her body coiled and ready to spring. The girl to Dean’s left screamed; Jayme whipped around, roaring so loud that she covered her head and hit the floor. The man tried to dart around Jayme, but she moved back, matching his moves, backing and herding him into the corner. Dean was reminded of a cat he’d once seen in a long-ago motel that had cornered a mouse—it got its prey completely trapped, then just sat there, watching.

“Jayme,” he said. “Get me loose.”

“It’s a wonderful irony, isn’t it?” Jayme said, lashing her tail back and forth. “A minute ago Pa Clampett over there is gloating about how he hunts humans to feel alive, and now . . . you pitiful chunks of meat are helpless at _my_ feet.” As she talked she moved ever so slightly, her posture and body language clear to all the hunters in the room that she had them all in her sights and would easily pounce the first one that moved and be able to do it quick enough to take down the rest.

“Jayme?” Dean said, clearing his throat. “You wanna untie me?”

“You, girl on the floor!” Jayme barked. When the girl didn’t move she made a sound that literally shook the floor. “Untie him. Relax,” she snarled as Pa started to move. “I have no intention of harming the child.”

Dean held still as the girl untied him, keeping his attention on Jayme. She was calm, but it wasn’t the good kind of calm. Once he was free he stood up slowly—the last thing he wanted was to make any of them flinch and set off a chain reaction.

The men pulled the girl in close, huddling together as they stared at Jayme, their eyes identically huge as if size alone would make sense of what was in front of them.

Jayme bent down and picked up the poker. “Now . . . just what were you going to do with this, hmm?” She brought it up to her face, the end still bright enough to make her eyes glow.

Nobody answered.

Jayme turned to Dean, her gaze downright demonic. “I know what we can do with this.”

“What?” he asked.

Jayme’s grin spread to Jack Nicholson proportions. “A little object lesson.”

Pa reached down, pulling the girl closer. “You said you wouldn’t hurt her!”

“Yes, I did, didn’t I? But then again, you’re just prey, aren’t you?” She held the poker in her hand, turning it slowly back and forth. “That’s your game, right? You are the Big Powerful Hunters, and you prove your superiority by trapping others of your kind who are . . . weaker.” She looked at Dean. “I don’t suppose they’ve hunted many Marines, bikers, lumbermen, those kinds of folks, right?”

As her head turned one of the men started to move; quick as thought Jayme turned, her tail lashing out and smashing the stove. He immediately pressed back against the others, tightening the knot.

“The next human who moves loses a limb,” she said. “Except you, Dean.”

“Yeah, thanks for that,” he said in his best flippant tone. “Listen, why don’t you go out and bust Sam out of his cage. I’ll watch the folks from Deliverance and then we can get the hell out of here.”

“No,” Jayme said. “You go. Whichever one of you has the key to those cages in the barn, give it to Dean,” Jayme said. “And that is the only movement I want from any of you.”

Pa slowly reached up, taking a chain with a key on it from around his neck. He held it out towards Dean, his eyes locked on Jayme’s. Some of the fear and shock was bleeding away, and a subtle defiance was beginning to creep in.

“Dean, go and get Sam, then bring him back here.”

“Jaymes—”

“Dean, I just saved you from the rejects from Deliverance. Now go and get your brother.”

“You promise you won’t do anything?”

“Not unless they start it. Now get moving.”

 

 

Sam circled his cage restlessly. He hadn’t heard anything after Dean had left for a few minutes and we just beginning to think that maybe something was going wrong when he heard a terrible roar and then sounds of breaking glass and shattering wood. Then relative silence, with distant sounds too soft to hear save a couple more sharp roars.

He heard the barn door open and lunged for the cage door, trying to see around it. “Jayme?”

“It’s me, Sam.” His brother did not sound very happy.

“Dean! What happened? What’s going on?”

“I have no idea. But I have a feeling it’s gonna get ugly.”

“What? What are you talking about?”

Dean put the key in and activated the lock. “Jayme’s got them pinned down and I think the first one who tries to run is going to get eaten.”

Sam leaped out. “We gotta get back there and stop her!”

“What for?” Dean faced Sam’s glare with a flat gaze of his own. “You didn’t see these assholes, Sam. Even the little girl they have is a psycho. If Jayme hadn’t busted in when she did I’d be looking at you with one eye and one empty socket.”

Sam flinched. “What are you talking about?” His gaze moved down to the charred hole in Dean’s jacket. “You mean they—”

“Yeah. Right after they did it Jayme came busting in—literally. Just like the Predator after Danny Glover cut his arm off, you know, when he was—”

“Dean would you focus? Why did you leave her in there with them?”

“Dude, you didn’t see her. No way was I going to argue.”

Sam gave Dean an odd look. Since when was Dean intimidated by Jayme? “We need to get in there before she kills them.”

“So what if she does?”

“Dean, they’re _people_.”

“Yeah, psychotic nutjob people who hunt humans for _fun_ , Sam! Humans like you!”

“And if Jayme kills them, she’ll probably get kicked off the planet.”

“The hell you talking about?”

“I’ll explain later—we need to get in there. Now.”

 

 

“So what are you?” Long minutes of silence had apparently restored Pa’s voice, the shock and fear slowly replaced by the same facial expression she’d heard in his words. “Ain’t never seen a creature like you—like someone mated a bear and a lion in a nuclear reactor.”

Jayme didn’t answer right away. Anger had yielded to something else, something far less comfortable—revulsion. It wasn’t just that they were filthy and smelled bad enough to crinkle even her nose, but the pride in killing just to make themselves feel more powerful—and calling themselves hunters while they did—hit far more deeply. It was the same feeling she imagined most humans felt about cannibals or child molesters; a soul-deep sense of offense, of wrongness that went beyond the normal ability to understand.

After letting half a dozen badly cliched movie lines flit through her head, Jayme finally settled on “Nothing you can understand, I’m sure.”

“So what you gonna do with us? If you’d wanted to kill us you’da done it by now.”

“If I desire you dead you will be, and there’s nothing you can do to stop me. But that’s too easy. You seem to thrive on the fear of others, but have you ever tasted your own?” She watched some of the cockiness leave the old man’s eyes. “Yes . . . that’s it, isn’t it? A steady diet of nothing but your victims’ fear, and never any of your own. Now that just won’t do.”

“You don’t scare me. I’ve a feelin’ you’re just like your friend—all talk.”

“Really.” The reluctance faded and she let the feeling of offense fill her as she reached out, grabbing one of the other men by his jacket. It was too easy to yank him forward, gaining enough of her control back to keep him from going through the wall but not enough to keep his head from smacking into it with a dull thud. He dropped to the floor, motionless.

“Lee!” Pa shouted as Jayme turned, snatching the other. He fought back as hard as he could, unable to wrench himself free from her iron grip. She held him up by his neck, letting him kick and dangle, his hideous teeth bared as he fought to take in air. Despite the thickness of the skin on her palms, not unlike the pads on a cat’s or dog’s paw, the nerves underneath were a marvel of sensitivity, able to detect small variations of movement even down to the flutter of a pulse. The beat pounding in the man’s neck was easy enough; she waited until it had reached its peak and then slowed in time with the cessation of his struggles, then lowered him, letting go after his feet had touched the floor.

The old man’s eyes were furious, even as Jayme turned her attention to the girl clinging to his side. “No, not Missy. You can take me, but leave her alone.”

Jayme just tilted her head to the side. She moved in faster than either of them could avoid, shoving Pa aside and grabbing Missy by the arm. She shrieked again, trying to pull away, her attention focused on the claws on her arm and missing the other hand that met her neck and squeezed. Her struggles slowed and her eyes rolled back in her head. Despite her disgust, Jayme eased her to the floor almost tenderly.

“Missy!” Pa shrieked. He started for Jayme, stopping a few feet away. “What the hell did you do to her!?”

“Relax. She’s merely unconscious. I told you before that I have no intention of hurting her—far more consideration than you give your victims.” She whirled, her gaze channeling all the disgust and fury she could muster. “Yes, I know, you arm your victims, give them a ‘fighting chance.’ As if you’d ever have let any of them actually go free.” She stepped back, merging to four legs, placing her grizzly-sized bulk directly in Pa’s path.

“Now. You and I have unfinished business.”


	5. Chapter 5

Being stuck for hours in a cage that didn’t allow him to stand up straight had left Sam cramped, but once he and Dean left the barn and ran for the house most of the kinks left him; whether because of movement or adrenaline, he couldn’t tell and didn’t have the time to care. He dreaded what they’d find, his mind taking the evidence at hand—the sounds Jayme had made and the fact that his tough, thoroughly unsentimental brother had actually been rattled—and giving him visions of human limbs and blood spread everywhere. The fact that they hadn’t heard anything did not seem to help.

They were several strides away from the bowed front porch when a figure came hurtling out, missing the steps and landing in the muddy drive with an ungainly skid, turning on its back as something huge leapt out after it.

“That’s the old guy that burned me,” Dean said, reaching out a hand to hold Sam back.

“Help me!” the old man screamed as Jayme pounced, grabbing his coat in her mouth and flinging her head, tossing him several feet. She turned, digging in her back legs and lowering herself to the ground, her tail lashing. He staggered to his feet, backing away from her. “For the love of God, help me!!”

“No, Sam,” Dean said, fisting Sam’s shirt. “Just let her go.”

“Dean, she’s gonna kill him!”

“So?”

“ _So_!?”

“Sam, how many people have these assholes killed? Look around you, man! All these cars, and you know what I found in that house? A jar full of _teeth_. How many innocent people have been snatched just so these inbred jerks can hunt them down like animals?” Despite his words Dean was not watching Jayme with admiration; he looked decidedly uncomfortable. “Look, just go in the house and see how many pieces the others are in, huh?”

Sam headed in, wincing as the old man screamed again, a scream that was quickly drowned out by Jayme’s snarls. Based on what he’d seen and heard and what they’d done to Dean, it shouldn’t have bothered him as bad as it did.

The house smelled awful and was filled with things he avoided scrutinizing, since a glance told him more than he wanted to know. He saw the massive hole in the wall where a window had once been and paused, feeling a shiver at the thought of the anger that had driven the destruction. He kept himself ready for an attack until he rounded a corner and found the bodies.

 

 

Dean watched as Jayme followed Pa, who was crawling on the ground. It was like one of those Most Real And Horrible Videos of a lion trainer getting mauled or someone getting attacked by a bear. Jayme was certainly no animal, but it was a little harder to remember that when she was like this, her movements slow and deliberate, the moves of someone who had all the time in the world. 

She taunted him verbally as well, throwing his own words back at him. Dean couldn’t argue with that; he and Jayme were more alike than he’d thought, at least when it came to hunting—you didn’t kill just to feel powerful, that was something that monsters did. Pa fought back in a weak, laughable way with the knife he was sure Jayme had allowed him to have, slashing at her when she got too close. He could tell that she was barely exerting herself, easily keeping herself clear of the blade and conserving her energy, but still pursuing him, hounding him, forcing him to keep moving; if he tried to stop or pause she’d slam a paw into him, poking and prodding him into movement.

His screams got more desperate as he tried to run, Jayme easily chasing him down and pouncing him flat, dragging him back to the house only to toy with him more. In a final move of desperation he threw the knife at her; she curled her head around, letting the blade deflect harmlessly off her mane. Her head coming around to focus on him, her mouth opened in a leer worthy of the worst monsters Dean had faced, she leaped and he literally disappeared underneath her as she slammed him to the ground, fangs going in for the kill.

“Jayme!” he shouted, hoping that maybe it wasn’t too late to stop her from turning the old guy into a pincushion.

“Dean!” Sam came running out of the house in time to see Jayme deliver the coup de grace, skidding to a halt next to his brother. “What—what is she—?”

“I don’t know, Sammy,” Dean said, watching as Jayme dragged the body back to the house, gripping Pa’s shoulder in her mouth. She pulled him up to the porch, heaving him onto the warped boards. 

“Eugh, he tastes awful,” she said, spitting a few times before running her long tongue up the weatherbeaten post.

“Jayme, you just . . . did you just . . . ”

Jayme looked at Sam, her expression entirely too reasonable and devoid of any of the anger and disgust she’d clearly felt. She moved up onto the porch, reaching down with her paw. One toe pushed aside Pa’s muddy coat, her claws hooking under his shirt and lifting it up. His torso was pale and dirty and completely uninjured.

There wasn’t a scratch on him.

Dean blinked. “How the hell’d you do that? I thought you just shish-kebabed him.”

“That’s what I wanted to tell you, Dean,” Sam said. “The others are in there. They’re unconscious but they’re alive.”

“Of course they are,” Jayme said. “I wanted to teach them a lesson. Hard to learn if you’re dead. And unfortunately that meant convincing both of you.”

“Convincing us of what? That you were going to maul him to pieces?” Dean said. “Shit, you had me convinced. So the whole thing was just a put on?”

Jayme just tossed her head in a shrug-like motion. “Mostly. The anger sure wasn’t.”

“Yeah, well, you didn’t fool me,” Dean said. “I knew all along.”

Sam gave Dean a look. “No you didn’t. You were totally freaked out.”

“Was not!”

“Were too!”

“Boys, boys!” Jayme said, nudging Dean. “We can argue later. I’m gonna take the Hatfields out to the barn before we call in the troops. You two just stay here and try not to get yourselves into any more trouble, huh?”

“I think she means you,” Sam said, moving aside as she changed back to two legs, picking Pa up and carrying him to the barn.

“Eat me.”

“Yeah, you’re lucky they didn’t,” Sam replied, pulling Dean’s jacket aside and checking his shoulder. “Doesn’t look too bad.”

“Yeah, I’m fine.”

“You sure? I haven’t seen you this rattled since . . . well, since I don’t know when.”

“I’m fine, Sam,” Dean said, shaking his brother’s hands away. “Just not used to having Chewbacca bashing through a wall. I was expecting her to rip them apart.” He looked around Sam as Jayme returned to the house, coming out with both of the younger men, one under each arm, and the little girl over her shoulder. “What did you mean when you said she’d get kicked off the planet?” he asked once she was out of her considerable earshot.

“Just that. If she kills a human, she’s out of here.”

“What if they had been about to kill you?”

“Then she was supposed to do exactly what she did. Disable them.”

“So what was all that ‘we gotta get over there before she kills them’ stuff?”

“He thought I was going to lose control.” Jayme came up behind them. “They’re all tucked away nice and cozy. I even tossed in a blanket for the kid. It’s getting cold.”

“Jayme, I didn’t mean—”

“Sam, it’s okay. You weren’t wrong, but I wasn’t as near to losing control as I looked. If it had gone any further than it did . . . well, who’s to say? Point is those yobbos got a reality check. Not that it’s going to do them much good where they’re going. Maybe the girl will learn. There might be hope for her.”

“You didn’t see her throw that knife,” Dean said.

“I did say ‘might.’ Let’s get the hell out of here. This place smells horrible and gives me the creeps.”

“Thought you didn’t react to bad smells, Miss I-Ate-Rancid-Meat,” Dean said as they headed down the dirt path in the direction of the car.

“I don’t. That wasn’t a bad smell. _That_ was something different.” 

They finally reached the car just as the sky was beginning to get light. Dean handed the keys to Sam in consideration of his shoulder while Jayme pulled a blanket out of the back, throwing it around her as she put her beast form away for the night. “You got your phone, Dean?”

“Where’s yours?”

“Over in the weeds, dead. I’ll get it in a minute.”

“Mine’s in the car,” Dean said. “Front seat.”

Jayme retrieved it. “Now if I can just remember the number . . . ”

“Who are you calling?” Sam asked.

“Friend of mine,” she said. “We’ve just solved God knows how many years of homicides, wanna make sure this is done right.” She held the phone to her ear. “Franz? Frank, right, forgot you changed the name, yeah. This is Jayme. Jhamera. Yeah, I know I still owe you for that night with Belushi and—oh, bite me, I—no, I don’t mean that literally, haven’t you ever heard of slang? Anyway, listen. I need a favor. No, you don’t have to leave your chair. Yeah. I’m in Hibbing Minnesota.” She pulled the phone away and rolled her eyes. “Oh how funny. Yeah. Couple friends and I ran into some trouble. Yeah.” She ran down the events of the night. “No, I didn’t. Well, the old man’ll probably be sore when he wakes up but I didn’t leave a mark on him. Frank, you didn’t see these assholes. They were . . . _dhera rannaster d’tunayah_. And they hurt my friends, so they are damn lucky all they’ll get is some soreness. Yeah. Well, I lost count of the cars. At least twenty, probably double when all’s said and done. Yeah. So if you could make sure the cops get here fast and nab these fuckos, I’d appreciate it. You got it. Thanks.” She ended the call.

“Well?” Dean said. “Wanna fill us in?”

She tossed him the phone. “Frank works in the U.S. Marshall’s office in Chicago. He’s a neromancer. Takes care of any incidents we have with humans. He’s going to contact the authorities and make sure they know what’s here before they get here. He’s the one Bobby called when . . . the night Ahma was killed.”

“Are you sure he’ll be able to get them here?” Sam asked.

“He traced me as soon as I called. We can track any electrical signal to within three feet.”

“Good. Let’s get the hell out of here,” Dean said, moving to the passenger side.

“When we get to a motel I get the shower first,” Jayme said. “I’m the dirtiest.”

“Wait a minute,” Sam said. “I spent most of the night in a cage! I get to go first!”

“Hey, I was the one getting covered in forty years of grime with the folks from Deliverance!” Dean snapped. “I get to go first!”

Jayme cleared her throat, then opened the blanket. Wrapping it back up, she said “I rest my case.”

Dean blinked, slowly staring over at Sam. “Wh . . . wh . . . ”

“Jayme, what . . . was that?” Sam finally managed.

“Hey, I said I forgot I wasn’t supposed to go around saying outrageous shit. Never said anything about not _doing_ outrageous shit.”

 

 

They were just outside of Hibbing, heading east when a trio of police cars raced past them headed in the other direction. “Wow, that was fast,” Sam said, holding the wheel steady and hoping none of them decided that their car looked suspicious.

“Frank has a way with words,” Jayme said from the back seat. “Getting a call from a U.S. Marshall’s office will most often get even the laziest local cops hopping.”

“So there’s a neromancer in the U.S. Marshall’s office, huh?”

“He’s not a field officer. He has a middling rank and mainly works out of his office. It’s a necessary measure to help keep our cover and help us keep things peaceful. We’re not allowed to hold ranking positions in the military or governments, only positions that allow us to observe.”

“So no presidents or generals.”

“Not even vices or colonels. I think Frank has the most power here on Earth at the moment, and he’s more interested in staying in his office and not being bothered.” She met Sam’s eyes in the mirror. “I’m making you uncomfortable again.”

“No, it’s not that, it’s just . . . hard to get used to the idea.”

“You, who go around knowing about all those things that go bump in the night and are supposedly just myths? I’m sure there are many monsters out there living incognito just like we do.”

“Yeah, but you’re not monsters.”

“Sometimes . . . I’m not so sure there’s a difference.”

Sam looked over at Dean, who had fallen asleep a few minutes after they’d pulled back onto the road. There was still a trail of blood on his face and the charred hole in his jacket, but he found himself thankful it had been no worse. “No, I think if there were no difference, then you wouldn’t have tracked me. You wouldn’t have saved Dean, and you wouldn’t have gone to the trouble of stopping those people without killing them. You showed more care than you had to, and monsters don’t do that.”

“But.”

“It would have been easy for you to lose control.”

“Not that easy, Sam. Give a girl some credit.”

He got on 73, which would snake further east and then north to Chisholm, which hopefully would have lodging of some kind. If not they’d keep going, putting as much distance between them and the Farm That Time Forgot. “Hey Jayme?”

“Yeah?”

“That control you have. Can you . . . could you teach me?”

She mulled it over for a minute. “If you want to I can try. I just wonder why you think you need it.”

“I don’t know.”

“Well, when you do, let me know. I’ll try to help you any way I can.”

“Would you?”

“Would I what?”

He stared at the yellow line on the road. “Would you really have killed them? Any of them?”

Her expression, obscured by the dimness of the back seat still shielded from the early morning light, was hard to read, her eyes flitting briefly to Dean, who released a snore and shifted in his seat.

“We’ll never really know, will we?”


End file.
